


An Unintended Dinner-Date

by Folieacutie



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, Meet-Cute, Modern AU, this is absolutely ridiculous but also hopefully adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22357396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Folieacutie/pseuds/Folieacutie
Summary: While others would pity her for the absence of someone else at her table, (she imagined an aghast Rachel Lynde, berating her for dining alone in public), Anne could have written poetry on the greatness of her meal. She was perfectly fine eating by herself, thank you very much. Except, there was a handsome man also sitting alone...Or,Anne and gilbert are both eating alone at a restaurant and wind up starting a wordless conversation across the room.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 15
Kudos: 230





	An Unintended Dinner-Date

**Author's Note:**

> I've edited this wayyyyy too many times!!! This fic came about bc whenever im alone eating in public I get slightly anxious until I also see another person eating alone. Then one time I thought, what if, in a fic, the two people eating alone eventually started talking to each other from their own tables?! How cute would that be?! So many body-language mishaps and shenanigans!  
> Anyways, hope u guys enjoy!!

Anne sipped her wine with a smile, letting the sweetness settle onto her tongue. The meal was absolutely divine. Anne even hummed to herself while digging in. The well-seasoned, grilled asparagus still crunched under her teeth, and the steak in the mushroom sauce was so large she bet she couldn’t finish it on her own, though she’d sure enjoy trying.

While others would pity her for the absence of someone else at her table, (she imagined an aghast Rachel Lynde, berating her for dining alone in public), Anne could have written poetry on the greatness of her meal. It was exactly the sort of thing a teacher should treat themselves to with a chunk of their tax-return money. Her cooking supplies were not piling up in the sink tonight! 

Admittedly, her set-up was a little awkward sans company, for she faced outwards towards the rest of the room. People bustled in and out and other groups sat laughing around their tables. Awkward eye-contact was bound to happen. Still, she scanned the area, pen and notebook idling in her bag, ready for inspiration to strike. Perhaps the person who came in carrying an umbrella recently used it for murder, or the group in the corner were planning a surprise party for their other friend. The lady sitting tables away had the grandest most incandescent set of earrings Anne had ever seen- maybe they were inherited? Or _stolen_ inheritance? Possibly the couple a few seats away were on their anniversary dinner! Wouldn’t _that_ be lovely? Could the man facing her from across the room be awaiting his childhood friend, or getting stood up on a blind-date?

Anne grinned at the people. She relished in the connectedness of it all, along with her own anonymity. She grabbed her materials and scribbled a line about how those gleaming earrings swished emerald and gold with every movement of the lady’s head. Anne scanned again. She pinpointed the man across the room, sitting on his own as she was. His black curls caught the dim lighting, nose long and regal while he looked down at a book, the menu closed by his side. Oh, what her younger self would have done to have had dark curls like that growing up! They looked absolutely _divine_ , and were probably soft like clouds. Dark, sleek storm clouds. 

She tried writing it all down, temporarily calling the characters _Earring Lady_ and _Mr._ _Curls_ respectively, but the squawking of a nearby couple halted her.

“Why are you so upset about broccoli?” A man shouted. 

“It’s not _about_ the broccoli!”

Anne looked up from her notes. She instantly and accidentally caught eyes with the man across the room- Mr. Curls. She could now see his dark irises matched his hair. He was tilting his head towards the couple too, sending Anne a mischievous quirk of the brow.

“If it’s not about me ‘stealing’ your broccoli, what is it about then? And, by the way, I am paying for this entire meal because _I_ make the money here, so it’s not like I’m really _ste-”_

“Make the money, Billy?! You never let me _do_ anything!”

Both Anne and Mr. Curls made wide-eyed looks at each other. 

“Never let you do _anything_? What else are you expecting to do? You never got an education and we have children we need you to take care of!”

“So that’s _all_ I can do? _Forever?_ What if I go back to school-”

“School? No, no, there’s no point-”

At this, Mr. Curls appeared stunned and distraught all at once. He looked back to Anne as if to say, _What the hell?_ and pointed his knife towards the couple, “ _I bet we can take him.”_ He mouthed. He mimed slitting his own throat.

Anne stifled a laugh behind her hand. Oh, she could imagine how that would go down, alright. She puffed out her chest and brandished her own knife in the air. 

She probably caught odd stares, but she didn’t care. Mr. Curl’s face lit up with laughter and all the butterflies in her stomach whisked away any burn of embarrassment.

They went on like this, him gesturing “ _You take the legs”_ and her going, “ _You gag him so he shuts up,”_ and, “ _Lets get him to change a diaper,”_ and, “ _I wonder if he knows to clean dishes?”_ before the grating of wood against floor heaved Anne and Mr. Curls out of their little conversation. The couple was fuming and getting up from their table.

“You don’t even hear what I’m saying! Nothing gets through your head-”

“All you do is complain, I swear-”

“Complain?! I’m trying to start some communication and _you don’t listen_ -”

Watching them walk out, her gaze once again met Mr. Curls’. He lifted his drink to her and winked.

Anne’s heart fluttered.

She reciprocated the action, blinking dazedly back.

Too soon, a waiter came over and took his order, the man returned to his book, and she her writing.

Or, tried to.

In any other situation a loud fight between strangers would give her millions of ideas, tons of backstories leading up to what she just witnessed. Now, all her mind gravitated towards was the glint in that man’s eye when he sent those glances, the way he gleefully egged on her dramatics. She wrote those thoughts down, internally chastising herself. Yet… he was undeniably a charming man... and therefore a compelling would-be character. Except he wasn’t a character at all, he was real, which caused both a flurry in her stomach and anxiety to rush through her veins.

Anne chanced a peek. As if sensing her, he lifted his head too. He gave her a sly grin which she took as, _Why, hello again,_ and maybe a little bit of _I caught you staring._

Before she could stumble through a nonverbal response, his eyes traveled to her pen and his expression shifted. He lifted a brow. “ _What are you writing? Or drawing?”_

She tensed and waved him off.

_“No, go on, I’m interested.”_

_“It’s nothing really. Just some story.”_

He gave her a cheeky smile and a thumbs up. _“I bet it’s great. A real masterpiece.”_

Who the hell was this man? Anne was ready to marry him, willingness-to-murder and all. 

_“Why thank you._ ” She didn’t point out his praise was presumptuous since he had never read her writing. Instead she gestured to his book. _“What are you reading?”_

_“It’s something medical.”_

She didn’t quite catch that. He compromised, _“It’s boring.”_

Anne snickered and then leaned forward onto her table, looking him straight in the eye. His nice, dark eyes. If only she could see them up close. _“Oh really? I bet it’s great. A real masterpiece, even.”_ She winked.

He laughed out-right and her heart grew in size. Unfortunately the surrounding noises blocked any chance of hearing him. Once his shoulders stopped shaking he pierced her with a look. It set her body aflame. _“_ You’re _great.”_

“ _What can I say? I have a way with words.”_

_“I can see that, they’re very original.”_

They smiled at each other.

Then, a waiter cut off her line of sight.

Wait _his_ waiter cut off her line of sight! There he was, walking past her table, holding a plate of food.

Taking this as a moment of pure luck, chance, fate, whichever, she harnessed all the audacity she had in her body and grabbed his attention.

He turned around. “Yes, miss?”

For a moment she was startled people could still verbally speak to each other. She got over that. “Is this that man’s plate of food? The one over there?”

The waiter checked over his shoulder to where Mr. Curls was, thankfully, occupied by his book once more. “Yes, it is. Why are you asking?”

She twisted her fingers together and then blurted out a horrendously concocted story that included a blind-date mishap, her running late, Mr. Curls running even later, and a plea to this poor, poor waiter to please save her from all the embarrassment of having to ask him herself to sit at this table. “-If you could just ask him for me it would mean _the world_ and salvage my already wounded pride!”

The waiter blinked at her while her chest dramatically heaved. “…Okay.” He said, and carried the plate over with him to Mr. Curls.

Anne smiled, feeling triumphant. Then, as the waiter got closer and closer to Mr. Curls, panic hit her. Anne’s heart banged against her ribs, threatening to _actually_ make her chest heave. What kind of lunacy made her further bother this man?

She dropped her eyes to the table cloth, picked up her glass, didn’t take a sip, set it back down again. She chanced a look up. 

The waiter leaned over while he and Mr.Curls talked, both glancing her way.

Her face on fire, Anne’s eyes jumped to her very shiny, ornate utensils. They were beautiful, and marvelous, and silver and had detailed engravings and- 

She looked up.

Mr. Curls’ face illuminated with a smile.

Anne blinked. She imagined him reeling back with laughter, chair almost toppling over as he dismissed her proposal with a pitying gaze. Her insides recoiled. She almost looked away...

Except, Mr. Curls set down his book, stood up from his chair, and gathered the rest of his belongings. He started to walk towards her- and wow, his physique in that suit certainly matched the beauty of his face- and then he was in front of her, standing as the waiter set down his plate.

“Enjoy.” The waiter said, then left.

They stared at each other.

Mr. Curls cleared his throat and clasped his hands together. “So, someone told me this is a blind-date I’m extremely late for?” 

A laugh bubbled out of her. 

Somehow, he looked both suave and genuinely eager as he pulled out the chair and sat down. “If so, allow me to apologize. You see, I had no idea I’d have such good company tonight.” His eyes really were charming, especially when twinkling at her.

Anne held in her blissful, relieved sigh. She raised her chin instead and met his gaze, her hands idle in her lap. “I appreciate the apology. You see, I made quite the effort with the invitation.” 

“Practically sent a carrier pigeon.”

She guffawed, “Oh I had to! What’s more thoughtful and romantic than an invitation sent by waiter? Delivering it without a recipient’s name was a challenge, but…” She surrendered to the smile that overtook her face. “I had to answer the call of adventure and see where it lead me.”

He beamed back. “Let me make future adventures easier for you, then.” He reached his hand over the table. “Gilbert Blythe. Lovely to finally talk up close.”

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.” She shook his hand, neither of them pulling away for a moment, “Lovely, indeed.” 

And Rachel lynde said nothing good came from eating dinner alone, if only she could see Anne now.


End file.
